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This book is all that's left me now, Tears will unbidden start, With faltering lip and throbbing brow, I press it to my heart For many generations past, Here is our family tree, My mother's hands this Bible clasped, She dying gave it me. My mother's hands this Bible clasped, She dying gave it me. Ah, well do I remember those, Whose names these records bear Who round the hearth used to close, After the evening prayer And speak of what this volume said, In tones my heart would thrill Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still. Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still. My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters dear How calm was my poor mother's look, Who leaned God's word to hear Her angel face, I see it yet, What thronging memories come Again that little group is met, Within the halls of home. Again that little group is met, Within the halls of home. Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried, When all were false I found thee true, My counsellor and guide The mines of earth no treasures give, From me this book could buy For, teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. For, teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. |
Words by Henry Russell ARTIST: Caroline Moseley RECORDED AT: Taplin Auditorium Princeton University James Moses, Recording Engineer © Copyright 1999 by Caroline Moseley, All rights reserved. Digitized by at the Digital Media Center, Clemons Library, Univ. of Virginia |